Wearing the Pants with the Angel of Music
by Elle-Vee16
Summary: If I were Christine, the story would have gone a bit differently...I am not to be trifled with. Not fluffy; Rated T for language. E/Me self-insert
1. Chapter 1

Lysandre burst into her dressing room, sobbing in anger and frustration. This was only her second month at the Opera Garnier, and for what seemed to be the millionth time she had been the butt of all of Carlotta's jokes. No matter how many times Lysandre had told her to shove it up her oversized ass, the prima donna had been relentless. Now, she had gone too far in insulting Lysandre's voice. True, Lysandre was painfully out of practise, but she still sounded alright in the chorus. Besides, who asked Carlotta? _Someone needs to tell that bitch the rule of opinions,_ thought Lysandre bitterly, _Opinions are like asses: everyone has one and personally, I think her's stinks._ Wiping the tears from her eyes, Lysandre forlornly sat down at her vanity.

"Great," she muttered, "Now my eyemakeup is going to smear. Just what I need." Sniffling, she took a hankie and wiped the smoky makeup from her eyelids, not really caring if she looked like a hot mess. "What does La Carlotta know about singing anyway?" She asked herself, "It's not like she can sing herself!" Lysandre broke down again, weeping and feeling like a total child. She never was much of a crier. She thought that sadness was a total waste of time. But sometimes it was an emotion that was very much needed. Her hands fingered the locket around her neck, containing the black silhouette of her father.

"Oh, Papa," she said, "Where is the Angel of Music you promised me? Granted, I would expect something more of a faerie or nymph, but if Angel works for you then that's fine with me." She smiled briefly, remembering the dark stories of the north that her father used to tell her when she was a young child.

Suddenly, Lysandre's head snapped up. What was that sound? It sounded like someone was singing...and it seemed to be coming from the mirror! Lysandre hopped up and grabbed the first weapon she saw: a parasole. Holding it up like a sword, she glared at the glass in front of her.

"Creeper!" She exclaimed, "What are you doing behind my mirror?"

"My dear, surely you would recognise the Angel of Music?" He said, in a voice that was, admittedly, lovely, "I have been watching you for quite some time."

Lysandre blanched. "_You've been watching me undress?"_ She screeched.

"No, of course not!" He retorted, "The Angel of Music is not so low as to give in to earthly lusts!" Not very reassurred, Lysandre lowered her mock weapon.

"What do you want from me?" She asked.

"I only wish to tutor you," he said, "Your father sent me to be your Angel."

"Odd," said Lysandre, "I was expecting a faerie or a nymph. But, if Angel works for you then that's fine with me."

"You should know that there must be rules, then," said the voice.

"Alright," Lysandre grumbled, none too thrilled at the thought, "What are the rules?"

"You must devote yourself entirely to music," he said.

"Fair enough."

"You may not allow your mind to wander. You are to give up all social events, be it going out with friends or attaining a suitor."

"Fuck that!" Lysandre exclaimed, "Listen here, Bigshot, you aren't keeping me from my friends."

"If you disobey me, then I shall leave and you will never hear from me again."

"So?" She scoffed, "See if I care. You aren't the only voice teacher in Paris, you know. Angel of Music be damned, you can't keep me from seeing my friends or gentleman callers. You see this face?" She pointed to her visage, "It's well-liked, and I have inalienable rights to keep hold of. If I want a suitor, then I'll have one!"

The next time the voice spoke, it seemed farther away than before. "Clearly, Lysandre, upstaging Carlotta means nothing to you. I could make you the most famous woman in all of France, but if that's not what you want..."

Lysandre folded her arms coolly. "Look mister, if you want to make me a singer, by all means, go ahead. But I have some rules for _you_. You cannot and will not control my life. I'm a woman, not your dog. I know how to listen and follow directions, but let's keep the schooling as schooling and not rule my personal life. Who I go out with is no concern of yours. You're high if you think otherwise."

There was a long silence, and Lysandre thought for a minute that it was a lost cause, and that she really did just give up a chance to be taught by the Angel (or faerie or nymph) of Music. She crossed over to the divan and lay down upon it, not really caring if she never got an answer from the mysterious voyeur who hid behind her mirror (why would she want lessons from the pedo-bear, anyways?).

Finally, she heard him speak again. "Fine," he snapped. Lysandre smirked. She knew she would get her way.

"Here's a little something you should know," she said, "I am always right."


	2. Chapter 2

Each of Lysandre's steps seemed to go to the rhythm of her frantic heartbeat as she ran into her dressing room, trying to block the sounds of the screaming people from her head. The grand chandelier had just fallen, leaving one dead and several injured. Now, everyone else was just freaking out. Lysandre was worried that something had happened to her voice teacher, because no matter how many times he said he was an angel, Lysandre had a hard time believing it. Her mind still expected a faerie or a nymph. She burst inside, and looked wildly about the room.

"Holy Jeez," she panted, "What a nightmare! Angel, please, if you're alright, please say something! Anything! Let me know you're alright!" She listened intently for her angel's voice, and shook with apprehension when she heard nothing. She had half a mind to go and search for him among those hurt by the accident, but decided against it. She didn't like seeing so many people in pain. Suddenly, she heard someone wail. It was a beautiful and familiar sound, and she smiled in relief when she heard her angel's voice ring out in song:

"Come! And believe in me! Whoso believes in me shall live! Walk! Whoso hath believed in me shall never die!"

Unable to think of the correct response, Lysandre sang out in her own, now-lovely voice, the first thing that popped into her head. She didn't even realise it was in Celtic. "Siuil, siuil, siuil a run. Siuil go sochair, argus siuil go ciuin. Siuil go doras argus ealeigh lion! Is go dte tu mhuirnin slan!" There was a confused silence, since the angel clearly didn't have a clue as to what she had just said. Frankly, neither did she. It just sounded pretty. Shaking the awkwardness, the voice began again to sing _The Resurrection of Lazarus_. There was a small clicking sound, and suddenly Lysandre was walking through her mirror as if in a trance. She gasped when she noticed she was in a very dark cavernous place, facing a very tall man in a full-length mask.

Lysandre threw her hands into the air. "You're kidding me," she said, "You're friggin' kidding me. I swear, if you're the Angel of Music, I'm going to shoot someone." Instead of responding, the man put a hand over her mouth. Being the germaphobe the she was, Lysandre panicked for a second. _WHOA! _She thought, _I don't know the last time you washed that hand! It smells like the Crypt Keeper! Boy, you betta get yo-self some Bath & Bodyworks hand sanitiser!_ Then, she passed right out. After a while, she briefly awoke and found herself in a boat. The fingers of that man were rubbing cold water onto her temples, making them smell a bit less like death and a bit more like icky lake water. The thought of aomebas on her skin made her pass out again.

She finally came to when this very odd man brought her into what appeared to be a nicley decorated apartment. It looked like something out of _Better Homes and Gardens Magasine. _Lysandre looked around, taking in her surroundings, before her pretty brown eyes finally came to rest on the mask of her captor.

"You," she gasped, "You're...you're a _dude! _Like a legit, breathing, living _dude! _What the hell is your deal?"

"You are right, Lysandre," said the man, "I am not an angel, nor a genius, nor a ghost. I am...Erik."

Lysandre stared at him in horror. "Oh my God, you _have _been watching me undress! Earthly lusts _my ass!"_

"No!" Erik cried, "Erik would never do such a thing! But you must know, Lysandre, that I took you out of love. Please don't despise me for it."

Lysandre _psh'd_ and crossed her arms. "If you don't let me the fuck out of here then you and me are gonna have some problems. You don't just kidnap a pretty girl. What the hell did you read for dating tips, _Twilight?_" With nothing more to say, and because she didn't really want to hear this crazy man's retort, she turned on her heel to the first door she saw. It was the door to a pretty bedroom with a cozy-looking bed, and an armoir. Looking in the armoir, she saw it was stocked with pretty dresses, lady's undergarments, and cute shoes. Lysandre shuddered. Either Erik was a part-time drag queen, or he was even more of a creeper than before because he knew her _measurements. _

This. Wasn't. Right.

**A/N: Okay, so I figure it's time I answer some reviews, eh? Oh, and if you are wondering anything, YES, I am Lysandre, and the reason the character expected a faerie or a nymph is because I'm Wiccan, so that would seem more natural for a faerie or nymph to appear than an angel. Capice? ;D**

**Goblindreamer: Haha, yeah, me too XD That's why I wrote this. It's time Erik got put in his place. IMO, that is...heheh...**

**PHLover213: Lol, much obliged. And he's not totally whipped...not YET at least ;D**

**ThisDuckShallEatYourPickleJar: You got it!**

**Thanks for reviewing guys! *hands out sugar cookies***


	3. Chapter 3

A day had passed. Lysandre spent it the way any kidnap victim would: by running around in circles begging to be let out. Of course, she knew that this was beyond pointless, but it gave her something to do. She had found a note from Erik when she awoke, saying that he had gone to get her any toiletries that she may need. Lysandre didn't really like the thought of him buying her unmentionable lady's products, but there wasn't anything she could do about it. When he finally returned, he looked down at her in disapproval.

"My dear," he said, "It is nearly two in the afternoon. Why are you not dressed and washed?" Lysandre stood up and tossed her long ebony hair over her shoulder.

"Up yours," she sneered, but she didn't really think he got it. She flounced off towared the bathroom, and prepared a bath. She noticed a pair of ornate scissors, and for a second contemplated using it for self-defense in case Erik got a little too frisky. One freshened up, she selected a pretty blue dress and put her hair up in a mock bun. After, she left her room at last and Erik led her to the dining room, where a nicely prepared lunch was waiting for them.

Lysandre glared at him across the table, refusing to touch her food in case he had spiked it with roofies. "How long are you holding me hostage?" She asked.

"Five days," he said dismissively, "But this is hardly a hostage situation." Lysandre rolled her eyes and pushed her plate away from her.

"I'm not hungry," she said.

"Fine," said Erik, "Then at least allow me to take you on a tour of my home." Huffing and grumbling in a severely pissed-off way, Lysandre got up and leaned against her chair.

"Aiight," she said, trudging after him. He showed her his bedroom, done up in red and black with a large coffin in the middle of the room. "Okay, you have some serious issues," she said, "What, are you a wannabe vampire or something? You been reading a little too much _Dracula_?" He only crossed his arms. "One should get used to all things in life," he grumbled, "Even eternity."

"Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiight." Lysandre made her way over to the very large organ that was on the far wall, and noticed a thick booklet entitled _Don Juan Triumphant._ "Is this your work?" She asked. Erik peered over at her and quickly joined her.

"Yes, I compose sometimes," he said, "I've been working on that opera for twenty years. I compose for weeks at a time, not eating or sleeping and living entirely on music. Then I rest for several years. When it is finished, I shall take it with me into that coffin and never wake up."

"Yes, because that isn't fucked up at all," said Lysandre, staring at this very very strange man, "Can I hear it?"

"No," he said a little too quickly, "I can play you Mozart if you like. But my _Don Juan _burns, Christine."

"Who the hell is Christine?"

"Lysandre, I mean," he corrected, wondering where he could have gotten such a name. "Come, Lysandre, let's sing music from the opera." He sat down on the piano bench and began to play Othello and Desdemona's duet. While she sang, Lysandre kept eyeing her captor's mask. She was really feeling alienated by it. _To hell with this!_ She thought, and stripped the mask from his face.

Erik let out a great rawr and stood to face her. Ranting and raving and all-out bitching at her, he started to remind Lysandre of La Carlotta on a good day. But she wasn't just going to sit there and let him yell at her. She began to yell right back.

"Damn you!" Erik screamed, "You little prying bitch how dare you remove my mask I _told_ you not to touch it but noooooooooooo you just can't listen to a single thing I say!"

At the very same time, Lysandre was shouting simultaneously: "Shut the fuck up you were stupid enough to figure I could go this whole time without seeing you and what the hell gives you the right to yell at me after you kidnapped me and locked me up here?" When they were both finished yelling like crazy people, they stood, panting and glaring at each other furiously.

"Dude," said Lysandre, "What. Is. Your. _Issue?_"

"You wanted to see!" He hissed, "Now, _see!_ Feast your eyes and sate your soul upon my cursed ugliness!" He made to grab Lysandre's hair and bring her face up to his, but she summoned the Mr. Miyagi inside of her to wax-off, thus knocking his deadly hands out of the way.

"Let me get something straight," she said, "You live under an opera house, wearing a mask, pretending to be a ghost all because your face isn't the prettiest around? Oh my Goddess, get a _life,_ would you?"

"Oh Lysandre," he said, the hint of a sob in his voice, "Why did you want to see me? My own father never saw me and my mother made a present out of my first mask!"

"Uhm, I wanted to see you because it's only natural for a kidnap victim to want to see the face of her captor. But I cannot believe that you've been down here moping about it for the past umpteen years."

"You don't know what I've been through!"

"So?" Lysandre scoffed, "You're not the first deformed person in the world. Damn you're selfish. Look at all the other disfigured people in the world. The hunchback of Notre Dame got out a bit!"

Erik crossed his arms and scowled at her. "I distinctly remember Esmeralda not letting Quasimodo kiss her hand due to his repulsiveness."

"Not in the Disney version."

"What's a Disney?"

"I don't know," Lysandre admitted, wondering where she had ever heard such a thing. Shifting uncomfortably, she tried to break the ice and get rid of the tensity in the room. "So like...do you have different masks for every emotion? Like a happy mask, sad mask, angry mask?"

Erik glared at her. "No, but if I did, I would be wearing the angry mask."

Lysandre giggled in spite of herself. Maybe she could get through to her voice teacher and make him a little bit less of a creeper.

**A/N: Oh my, this was long. And don't think for a second that just because Lysandre is softening that she's lost her bitchitude. Say it with me: NEVERGONNAHAPPEN. ;D**

**Goblindreamer: *Takes cookie* Thanks darlin'! *munches happily* And yeah, he is XD Don't get me wrong, I seriously heart me some Erik, but the facts must be faced. He crossed some lines into creepy-stalkerdom. I'm taking a stand against those phangirls who say "OMG ERIC DID NOTHING WRONG I WANT THE ANGLE OF MUSIC TO SING TO ME!1!1!11!" XD You know? Lol.**


	4. Chapter 4

Sneaking around Erik was definitely easier than Lysandre had expected. After a long stay in his underground home, he let her go with a ring on her finger. He had promised her that she would be able to see whoever she wanted to in the Opera, as long as she always wore the ring. Lysandre didn't have a qualm with it. She didn't plan on marrying anyway, so what harm was there in humoring a kidnapper? Once she had been let go, she sent a telegram to the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny, her old childhood sweetheart and her current beau. They were to meet up backstage.

Lysandre saw him, standing and waiting for her, looking dashing as ever. She smiled at the familiar and comforting sight, then scurried into his awaiting arms. Kissing each other's cheeks in that oh-so-drole way of French greeting, they walked arm-in-arm about the backstage area, sharing pleasant conversation. Raoul glanced at the stage and seemed to notice an open trap-door.

"You have shown me the upper part of your empire, Lysandre, but there are strange stories told of the lower part. Shall we go down?" He asked.

Lysandre stared at him in horror. "Are you high?" She frantically whispered, "We can't go down there! You'll get punjabbed!"

"Oh, so that's where _he_ lives, isn't it?" Raoul said, speaking of his girlfriend's strange and uber-creepy tutor that he had heard of through strangely and uber-creepily eavesdropping and hiding in her dressing room.

"Pretty much," Lysandre shrugged, "Hey, wanna hear all about it? I got the dirty deetz." Raoul agreed to hear her tale, and she dragged his ass all the way to the rooftop of the Opera. However, no matter how many times she looked back to make sure she wasn't being stalked, she failed to notice that she was, in fact, being stalked. Sadly, since Lysandre had left her contact lenses at Erik's house, she wasn't seeing as well as she should've been. The shadow followed her and Raoul all the way to a statue of Apollo's Lyre.

"Aiight Sweetcheeks, you're about to hear some crazy shit," said Lysandre, taking Raoul's hands. "So you know that teacher I had? Called himself the Angel of Music?"

"Yes," said Raoul, "Although with your spiritual beliefs I really would've expected you to tell of a faerie or a nymph."

"I know, right? Anyway so this guy was tutoring me for a while, and then all of a sudden when that chandelier accident happened, he revealed himself to me! He takes me through-_through!_-the mirror in my dressing room, like some super-cool magic Dumbledore stuff."

"What's a Dumbledore?" Raoul asked.

"Dude, I don't even know," said Lysandre, "But I was pissed, right? Because all this time I'm expecting some divine being but instead I get a creepy old man who wears a mask. And this guy is seriously tweaked, because he kidnaps me and holds me hostage in his underground house!"

"The cad!"

"Don't look angry, darling, it makes you less hot. As I was saying, I was stuck in this guy, Erik's, house, and he tells me not to touch is mask. So he gives me La Grand Tour, and then we go to sing, and then I took off his mask, yada yada yada, and here I am now."

Raoul stared at her. "Lyssie, my dear, you yada-yada'd over the most interesting part!"

"No, I mentioned going through the mirror," Lysandre reassured him.

"That isn't what I meant," said Raoul, "Tell me about his face!"

"Ugh," Lysandre griped, "It's a good thing I love you and shit, because you're really starting to annoy me. His face was like...all corpsey and stuff. It really wasn't as bad as everyone-including himself-believes it to be. Like really, that poor lady who got attacked by a chimpanzee has it way worse. I've seen crazier things on National Geographic."

"My little Lyssie, I really don't understand a word you say at times," said Raoul, "but it is rather endearing."

"Don't call me little Lyssie, you make me sound like I'm four years old! Jeesh."

"Do you love him?" Raoul asked abruptly.

Lysandre laughed. "Do I love who? Erik? That's pretty damn impossible to answer. He loves me, but I don't think I'm in love with him. I feel for the dude, but I can't love someone who's manipulated me and watched me undress and kidnapped me. Besides, I love you. So why are you asking stupid questions?"

"I love you, Lyssie," said Raoul.

"And I love you, but I think some shit's about to go down. So I'm gonna give you my lips for the first and last time. Take 'em, Hotstuff!" That said, Lysandre and Raoul wrapped their arms around each other, kissing passionately. Lysandre was so caught up in the moment that she didn't notice the shadow watching her. However, as she moved Raoul's hand from her ass to it's rightful place at the small of her back, she could have sworn she heard a wail carried on the wind.

"Horror!...Horror!...Horror!"

**A/N: Well, that was...yeah. Don't hate me, I love Raoul. I may be team Erik, but I love my precious Vicomte just as much :3 Wow, there were a LOT of anachronisms too...**

**Mominator124: Hiya, Barb! I've seen you on DeviantArt! *waves* I'm really glad you like the story so far! As to Erik never mentioning that mask to Lysandre, there's actually a funny story about that...heh heh...that chapter was actually a rewrite, so in the original draft I did have him saying, "You are in no danger as long as you do not touch my mask." Silly me, I forgot to add that into the new version, and I thought that I still had it mentioned...but I think I'll go with the old excuse that it was in the same vein as Christine and Disney XD**

**PhantomPhan: LOL! I love The Karate Kid! Only the old ones though...that new crap coming out makes me ill.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: OHMYSWEETBEJEEZUS. Has it been forever or WHAT? It's been like...almost a year! Literally three days from a year. I am SO. SO. SO. SORRY. Words cannot even describe how sorry I am for keeping you all waiting :( I'm a terrible person, I know. I shouldn't even have an excuse, but I'm gonna give one anyway: I got bored with the story, bored with Phantom, started roleplaying obsessively, went to school, became re-obsessed with Harry Potter, and now I'm back and I haven't written anything Phantom in a year! You might have already noticed my Harry Potter fics (yeah, read those, they're good.) Anyway, this is the first thing I'm updating. It's almost over anyways, so why not? Again, I'm really sorry for taking so long, and I hope you enjoy the rest of this!**

**Oh, and a slight warning: There is a LOT of cursing in this. There are Mad Mad Mario references, and a very angry protagonist...so beware.**

* * *

Two minutes till places.

"Thank you, two!" Lysandre called to the stage manager as she adjusted her costume. She was totally kickin' ass at performing Marguerite, and felt like a million bucks. She hadn't heard from Erik in a while, which was pretty sweet, and her love life was going _swimmingly_. She headed from the green room to the wings backstage, standing next to Mephistopheles. Before going on, she looked to the right, where Meg Giry was standing several feet away. Lysandre gave her a wink before taking her place on the stage, ready to rock.

It was a full house, and before the audience knew what hit them, Lysandre was singing her heart out. Her voice really had improved; she was hitting higher notes than Sarah Brightman and sounded more soulful than Adele, whoever them bitches were. Her acting wasn't too shabby, either. Oh yeah, everything was going her way.

Feeling empowered and filled with adrenaline, Lysandre spread her arms wide and sang out, "Holy angel, in Heaven blessed, my spirit longs with thee to rest!"

BAM, BABY.

The entire stage went black. There was a collective gasp from the audience. For two seconds, Lysandre stared in the darkness. If the lights had been on, people would have seen that she was pissier than a woman during that time of the month.

"OY!" She yelled, "WHAT THE FUCK? I'M SINGIN' OVER HERE YOU SODDING BASTA-" But Lysandre never got to call the light crew people sodding bastards, because suddenly the very floor fell from under her! She screamed as she fell into the arms of some random person, who put his hand over her face.

_Erik, you son of a motherfucker, I hate you so fucking much right now...! _She thought before she was knocked out by the chloroform.

* * *

Minutes, hours, days could have gone by, and Lysandre wouldn't have known. When she awakened, she was back in her room at Erik's house. She felt incredibly groggy, and it took her a few minutes to remember what had happened. When she did, she flushed red and her mouth opened the way Charlie Brown's does when he yells.

_**"ERIIIIIIIIIIIIIIK!"**_ She screamed, so loudly that even all caps, bold face, italics, underlining, and multiple exclamation points couldn't even describe the sheer volume of it. Erik came in, and though Lysandre could tell he was upset, it was nothing compared to the way she was feeling.

"What the fuck is your problem? You stupid twat!" She began to rant like Mad Mad Mario. "What number is this? Do you get off on kidnapping people? You stupid _ass_! Do you think I don't have a life? Do you think I don't got shit to do? I'm a goddamn singer! I've gone through so many motherfucking lessons! If I have to sit through another one of those goddamn things!"

"But they improved your voice!" Erik interjected.

"I don't care! Don't even get me started on your teaching skills, you scrawny fuck!"

"I'm not that scrawny-"

"You're fucking lucky I don't murder your ass right now! You have _ruined_ my show! People are gonna go fucking crazy looking for me, and if I'm lucky I'll see your bemasked _head_ on a silver platter that lights up and sings showtunes!"

She sat there, staring at him, chest heaving. Erik was silent, and staring right back. Lysandre made a wild impatient gesture.

"Well?" She exclaimed. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

Erik stared at her a few more moments before he spoke. "You have betrayed me."

Lysandre flopped back on the bed. "Oh, _come on,_" she said to the ceiling. "Are you kidding me? It's not like we're _married,_ Erik, it's not like I've committed adultery."

Erik suddenly took several quick steps toward her. Grabbing her wrists, he hoisted her up. "I saw you with the Vicomte de Changy!" He spat. "I saw the two of you together, kissing! Did you truly believe you could hide that from me?" He laughed maniacally and threw her back down onto the bed. Lysandre pushed herself back up, realisation dawning.

"You think...? Oh, no, Erik, you don't understand!" She said pleadingly, "You don't understand a thing about what we have together. I don't love-"

"But you will!" Erik interrupted. "I've brought you here to let you know, my darling Lysandre-there will be a wedding tonight!"

"...Huh?"

Erik nodded and went over to the wardrobe. He pulled out an exquisite wedding dress of ivory-it wasn't pure white, which Lysandre found a little insulting. What kind of floozy did Erik think she was?

"You see?" Erik asked. "You have a choice to make, my dear. You have until eleven o' clock tomorrow evening-twenty-four hours-marry me, or we'll all be _dead and buried!"_

Lysandre looked into his eyes and saw that there was truth in that statement. As she gazed solemnly at him, she told him the unabashed truth:

"You're a dick."

* * *

**A/N: Whew! Another chapter down! But seriously, if you haven't seen any of the Mad Mad Marios on Youtube, look it up. Funny as hell.**


	6. Chapter 6

There wasn't a great many things to do while being cooped up in her room. The thought of marrying Erik had Lysandre feeling, truthfully, a bit nauseated. Maybe if he weren't such a complete psycho, he'd be a bit more loveable. While she pondered things to do, she began to smack her head against the wall. The walls must have been really thin in that underground house, because before long Erik came in. He gave a gasp of surprise when he saw that Lysandre's forehead was bleeding a bit.

"You've got no one to blame but yourself," she chided. "Quid pro quo, douchebag." Erik shook his head at her and pulled out a long piece of rope. Lysandre's eyes widened. "What the hell do you think you're doing with that?" She exclaimed.

"You're not going to kill yourself," Erik told her. "You'll not get out of this that easily!" With the rope, he bound her wrists and tied her to one of the bedposts.

"You're _so_ friggin high right now," Lysandre said. "You've been poppin' them pills, trippin' on acid, bruh!" Pointing this out to him didn't keep him from tying her up. He left her there, alone, to dwell on her future and make her decision.

_Fine,_ Lysandre thought. _If you're gonna play dirty, I'll play dirty too._ With that in mind, she promptly began to do the most natural thing: annoy the shit out of Erik.

"_I GOTTA GET BACK TO HOGWARTS!" _ She sang, very loudly and very off-key, something Erik wasn't very accustomed to hearing. "_I GOTTA GET BACK TO SCHOOOOL. I GOTTA GET MYSELF TO HOGWARTS, WHERE EVERYONE THINKS I'M COOOOOOOOL!_

_ "THIS IS THE SONG THAT NEVER ENDS! COS IT GOES ON AND ON BY FRIENDS!_

_ "I KNOW A SONG THAT GETS ON EVERYONE'S NERVES, EVERYONE'S NERVES, EVERYONE'S NERVES! I KNOW A SONG THAT GETS ON EVERYONE'S NERVES AND THIS IS HOW IT GOES: I KNOW A SONG THAT GETS ON EVERYONE'S NERVES, EVERYONE'S NERVES, EVERYONE'S NERVES..."_

Finally, Erik barged back into her room. He was trying to keep himself calm, and it looked like a very difficult thing to do. "Lysandre, my dear," he said, his voice only slightly shaking, "I would appreciate it if you would keep those songs to yourself. Perhaps try to think a little more on your decision, hm?"

"It helps me think," Lysandre said darkly. Erik made a sound of exasperation and left the room again.

_"FRIDAY, FRIDAY, GOTTA GET DOWN ON FRIDAY! EVERYBODY'S LOOKIN' FORWARD TO THE WEEKEND, WEEEKEND!" _Lysandre called after him.

The hours crept slowly by. Lysandre sang every annoying song she knew: Sexyback, Oops I Did It Again, Bird Is The Word, and Peanut Butter Jelly Time. She made odd animal noises. She talked about all the times she and Raoul had gotten frisky in a loud New York accent. She tried to compose a song of screams. But apparently, Erik was either really good at tuning things out, or he had turned off his hearing aids. Lysandre found herself so bored now that she almost _wanted_ his company. Creepy asshole that he was, he could be pretty fun to talk to sometimes. The man had seen more than a veteran from 'Nam.

However, when he returned, Lysandre found that she wanted him to leave again.

"Have you made your decision?" He asked. Lysandre nodded.

"Sure have!" She said brightly. "I've decided that _Friday_ is a way more annoying song than _Bird Is The Word_, yet it's somehow catchier. Isn't that just hilarious?"

Erik scowled at her. "So you've given no thought whatsoever to whether or not you want us all to perish?"

"Hmmm...nope, not really."

"You must make your choice!" Erik exclaimed. "The wedding mass or the requiem mass!"

"God, they both sound so depressing."

Erik scowled at her again, anger flashing in his yellow eyes. "The requiem mass is not at all gay," he said, "whereas the wedding mass-you can take my word for it-is magnificent! You must take a resolution and know your own mind! I can't go on living like this, like a mole in a burrow! Don Juan Triumphant is finished; and now I want to live like everybody else. I want to have a wife like everybody else and to take her out on Sundays. I have invented a mask that makes me look like anybody. People will not even turn round in the streets. You will be the happiest of women. And we will sing, all by ourselves, till we swoon away with delight. You are crying! You are afraid of me! And yet I am not really wicked. Love me and you shall see! All I wanted was to be loved for myself. If you loved me I should be as gentle as a lamb; and you could do anything with me that you pleased."

Lysandre couldn't help but melt a little at his lament. She wiped her eyes-the tears weren't from crying; she had yawned and a few tears leaked out-and looked back up at Erik.

"Damn," she said. "Did you copy and paste that from a book or what?"

Erik let out a heartwrenching groan and covered his masked face in his hands. "You don't love me!" He wailed. "You don't love me! You don't love me!"

Lysandre yawned again, and felt her eyes water. Holy guacamole, how long had it been since she slept? Erik looked at her in pity. "Why do you cry? You know it gives me pain to see you cry."

"Dude, I'm fucking tired as hell. I can't really sleep on the bed if I'm tied to it."

An electric bell sounded. Erik and Lysandre both looked in the direction of the bell.

"Oh for shit's sake," said Lysandre, "who the hell is stupid enough to actually come down here and ring the doorbell? Damn teenagers."

Erik gave a sinister chuckle. "Wait for me here...I am going to tell the siren to open the door." He stepped out of the room. Lysandre knew that some shit was about to go down. In other words, someone was gonna die.

"Yeah," she called after him. "I'll just wait here...tied to this bed...dumbass." She gave a big sigh and looked around the room, shaking her feet to a random beat as she quietly hummed Poker Face. Suddenly, there was a sound from the adjacent room to hers-the one she had never been allowed to enter.

"Lysandre! Lysandre!" That was Raoul's voice!

"Holy shit, I'm getting a contact high!" Lysandre cried, burying her face in her arms.

"Lyssie, Lyssie, it is I, Raoul!"

"Of course it's you, no sane person in this world calls me Lyssie!"

"Can you tell us where Erik is?"

Lysandre thought for a moment-the siren was outside the front door, and Erik usually didn't like to kill people in the house. "I'm guessing he stepped out," she said.

"Can you make sure?"

"Nah, bruh, he tied me to the bed. And not in the kinky way." Lysandre looked toward the wall where their voices were coming from. "There's a door to the right. I'm not allowed near it, it's the door to the torture chamber, he says."

"That is where we are!" She heard another man say. "But we cannot see the door!"

"Knowing Erik, he's probably disguised the door," said Lysandre. "It's something a prick would do. If I could, I'd throw something at the door so you guys could see where it is."

For a few moments, there was only silence. Lysandre began to jump at small noises, in fear that Erik was returning. If he discovered Raoul, they were all shit outta luck.

The other man spoke again. "Is it a door with a lock on it?"

"Yeah, bruh."

"Mademoiselle, it is absolutely necessary for you to open that door for us!"

"Oh, sure," said Lysandre, "I'll just pull some magical rope cutters out of my ass and untie myself, then pull the key out of my nostril and get the door for you."

"Do you know where the key is?" The other man asked.

"Yeah bruh, it's in the other room. But I can't _get_ there because I'm-"  
"Yes, we know, you're tied up," said Raoul, his voice becoming a bit whiney-something that never failed to piss off Lysandre. "Why on earth did he do such a thing in the first place?"

"I started bashing my head against the wall and it pissed him off. I swear, he's always on his man-period. But anyways, I strongly suggest the two of you skeedaddle before he gets back, because if he sees that y'all are here, he'll castrate you in the middle of Time Square."

"Lysandre," said the other man, "You must play to his affections. Make him untie you. Say you're hurt. Remember, he loves you."

"No shit?" Lysandre said. "Nothin' says 'I love you' like a good ole' kidnapping and forced marriage."

Suddenly, Lysandre heared something-not just something, but something something. Footsteps.

Erik was coming back.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Figured I'd take this time to answer some reviews.**

**Or just a collaboration of the three left by PhantomWaffles :]**

**Firstly, thank you! To answer your question about how Lysandre knows of all these anachronisms, she's not a time traveler, because even SHE doesn't know what she's talking about-she may know of Dumbledore and Disney, but she has no idea what they are. So yeah, I basically blew the fourth wall into smithereens. And y'know, when I got your latest review, I**** could've kicked myself :P I woulda done Pigfarts, but Get Back To Hogwarts had been stuck in my head xP**

**AND AS A GENERAL NOTE TO ALL: I'm lazy :P And the end of Phantom has a lot of action-packed stuff. Erik's got a lot of little speeches that I don't feel like adjusting. So, this is to inform you that I am about to take a LOT of liberties with the original story :3**

* * *

When he walked in, his mask was off, which wasn't exactly normal for Erik. He was also soaked from head to toe.

""I beg your pardon for letting you see a face like this!" He exclaimed. "What a state I am in, am I not? It's the other one's fault! Why did he ring? Do I ask people who pass to tell me the time? He will never ask anybody the time again! It is the siren's fault."

Lysandre glared at him and tried to aim her hand correctly so she could flip him the bird in the most creative way possible. Erik sighed. "Why did you cry out?" He asked.

Lysandre snorted. "Because you tied me up, asshole! These ropes hurt after a while."

"Oh," said Erik. "I thought I had frightened you."

"Yeah, I'm shaking in my boots, can you untie me now?"

"You will try to kill yourself again."

Lysandre rolled her eyes. "What if I pinkie swear not to try and kill myself?"

Erik eyed her suspiciously. "You _have_ to _really_ pinkie swear. And no crossing your fingers!" He stepped forward and linked pinkies with Lysandre, then began to loosen the crazy as hell sailor knots he had tied the rope into. While he worked, Lysandre noted, he wouldn't STFU. Lysandre could barely get a word in, although she certainly tried.

"After all, as we are to die together...and I am just as eager as you ("Oh yeah, I shiver with antici...pation.") ...yes, I have had enough of this life, you know. ...Wait, don't move, I will release you...You have only one word to say: _`No!' _And it will at once be over _with_ _everybody_! ...You are right, you are right; ("No shit, I'm always right.") why wait till eleven o'clock to-morrow evening? True, it would have been grander, finer...But that is childish nonsense ("Your _mom's_ childish nonsense.") ...We should only think of ourselves in this life, of our own death...the rest doesn't matter. ...You're looking at me because I am all wet? ("No, I'm looking at you because you're friggin high.") ... Oh, my dear, it's raining cats and dogs outside!...Apart from that, Lysandre, I think I am subject to hallucinations ("Y'see! That's the high!") ...You know, the man who rang at the siren's door just now-go and look if he's ringing at the bottom of the lake-well, he was rather like. ...There, turn round...are you glad? You're free now. ("'Bout time!") ...Oh, my poor Christine, ("Again with the Christine! Are you cheating on me or something?") look at your wrists: tell me, have I hurt them?...That alone deserves death...Talking of death, I must sing his requiem!"

He took Lysandre's arm and pulled her into his own bedroom, which seemed to be on the opposite wall of the torture chamber. He sat at the organ and began to sing a _dies irae_ that would've made Jesus pat him on the back. Lysandre's eyes shifted to a little bag on a hook-_the bag with the key._

Slowly, like a ninja in a James Bond movie, Lysandre crept over to the hook on the wall. Seeing that Erik was perfectly distracted from what she was doing, she snatched the bag off of the hook and shoved it down her cleavage.

Apparently, this action wasn't ninja enough.

Erik abruptly stopped the requiem and spun around to look at her. "What have you done with my bag?" He near shouted.

Lysandre shimmied a bit. "You want it, you'll have to come and get it!" Then, she ran back into her own bedroom, Erik following quickly behind her.

"Is that why you had me release you?" He asked.

"No, I had you release me because the ropes hurt and I had to pee."

Erik came toward her, fast as lightning, and got all up in her face.

"Give me back the bag!" He spat. "Don't you know that it is the little bag of life and death?"

"Oh, I'll give you the bag," Lysandre replied conversationally. "But we have to come to an agreement." Slowly, she extended her arm, offering to shake Erik's hand.

"What is it that you want?" Erik asked wearily.

"I want a rocket ship with enough fuel...to get me to Maaaars."

Suspicion grew in Erik's eyes, and he regarded her like he knew she was up to no good. "What do you want with a rocket ship?" He asked. "What business do you have on Mars?"

"That really doesn't concern you."

"All right," Erik said, taking her hand, knowing full and well that he would never get his hand on a rocket ship, whatever that was.

Lysandre squeezed his hand and shook it. "And you have to be my slave for an entire day starting NOW!" She said this last part rather fast. Letting go of his hand, she staggered back from a very stunned Erik. Feeling very pleased with herself, Lysandre beamed.

But only for like, a minute, because Raoul chose that time to give a cry of triumph. Both Erik and Lysandre's heads snapped in the direction of the torture chamber.

"Did you hear that?" Erik asked.

"If I did, it's the contact high," said Lysandre.

"I think there's someone in the torture chamber!"

"Nah bruh, that's just the mice humping in the walls."

"Why is it that you look so nervous? I think you know there is someone in there!" He walked over to the wall and pulled aside a small curtain, revealing a window. "Your lover, the Vicomte de Chagny, perhaps!"

"Dude, he's not my lover. Gross."

"Aha, you think you can fool me! I know how your mind works, Lysandre."

"Nah, bruh, if you would _shut up and listen..."_

"And now, may the tortures begin!" Erik's voice was dripping with triumph as he went to turn on a light in the window. Thinking fast, Lysandre cried out.

"Oh!" She exclaimed. "My heart! I counterfeit to swoon!" Knowing that at this point Erik was watching her, she collapsed to the floor and gagged.

"Lysandre!" Erik cried, rushing to her aid. Lysandre hoped that Raoul and The Other Man would have enough sense to find a way out.

"My slave," Lysandre gasped out to Erik, "as my dying wish...I need...the key inside the little bag of life and death."

"What ails you?" Erik asked, taking her hand in his own. "What's the matter?"

"I have...Euromisitisis Poisoning..." she choked out, "because I was tied up...couldn't use the loo...and now, happy dagger, thy sheath, there rust and let me die!" Lysandre closed her eyes for a moment and held her breath.

Erik was still standing over her. Lysandre quickly rethought her plan. Her eyes snapping open, she stared at the ceiling and reached for it.

"Momma!" She called. "I'm ready for ya, Momma! Take meh home, Momma!" Retching a bit, she clutched at Erik's face. "Please, Severus...the key. I wish only to look at it..._I don't have much time!_" Bewildered, Erik took the key from inside his coat pocket and handed it to her. Feeling the small brass key in her hand, she closed her fingers tightly around it and shoved Erik out of her way. Hopping up, Lysandre ran for the door, and stuck the key in the lock. There was a small _click_, and the door swung open.

"FALL IN, TROOPS, GO GO GO GO GO!" Lysandre shouted as Raoul and The Other Man (revealed to be the Persian who often wandered around the Opera) ran into the bedroom. Of course, Lysandre hadn't really thought this entire plan through. She honestly didn't even think that he'd believe her little death act. But now, he had been tricked, and one of the men Lysandre _knew_ he hated beyond all reason was in the room with him.

Maybe this plan was stupid after all.

Testosterone thick in the air, suddenly, Erik and Raoul were brawling like a couple of drunken Irishmen in a pub. Lysandre and the Persian sat on the bed, eating popcorn and cheering them on. Raoul delivered a good kick to Erik's shins, and Erik bitch-slapped Raoul across the face.

"That's it, Erik!" The Persian cried. "Keep your pimp hand strong!"

"C'mon, Raoul!" Lysandre shouted. "Don't be a little bitch! Whoop his ass! You fight like Betty White out there!"

And so the battle continued. When the two men had finally had enough, Erik was sporting a busted lip and Raoul's nose was bleeding. They circled each other, like two lions about to get in on. In the violent way, not the kinky way. At this point, the Persian was picking at his fingernails, and Lysandre had flopped back on the bed. Both of them were very bored.

"Enough already!" Lysandre exclaimed as Erik tried to lunge for Raoul again. The two men stopped immediately, Raoul in a choke-hold and his fist pulling what remained of Erik's hair. Lysandre stood up, hands on her hips, wearing a very pouty expression.

"What _is_ it with you two?" She asked in exasperation. "What is it about _me_ that makes you both go crazy?" She looked at Raoul. "Do you love me?" She asked.

"With all my heart," he answered.

"What about you, Erik? Do you love me?"

"More than you can possibly imagine!"

"But _why?"_ Lysandre asked again. "What the hell is so lovable about me? I'm a frigid bitch who neither of you can even understand half the time! I'm crude, immature, shallow, and pretty damn mean! If someone were to write a song about me, it'd be like...

_"I'd catch a grenade for ya...throw my hand on the blade for ya...I'd jump in front of a train for ya...y'know I'd do anything for ya! I would go through all this pain, take a bullet straight through my brain. Yes I would die for ya, baby...but you won't do the same!_

"Who _loves_ people like that? Dumbasses, that's who!" She finished, glaring at the both of them. Erik and Raoul were silent for a moment, looking down on the floor. Raoul wiped a bit of the blood from his nose.

"I love you regardless," Raoul said. "In fact..." he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. Opening it, he revealed a diamond ring inside. It was silver, too, which was even better, because Lysandre didn't like gold very much at all. "I want you to become my wife," he finished. Lysandre stared.

"Are you fucking serious?" She asked. Erik buried his face in his hands.

"Quite serious." Raoul solemnly informed her.

"Ugh!" Lysandre threw her hands into the air. "No, Raoul. No. I didn't wanna have to say this, but...I don't love you!"

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**A/N: Oh goodness! Lysandre doesn't love Raoul? What could that possibly mean? Leave a review and keep an eye on those story alerts to see what's going on here!**


	8. Chapter 8

At first, there was nothing but stunned silence in the room. Then, Erik freaked the fuck out.

"Yes!" He cried in triumph, raising his arms. "You have _failed_, Vicomte! Who does she love? Who has her heart? _Not you! _Suckaaaaaaa!"

"Erik-" Lysandre protested.

"You thought you would win!" Erik said to a shocked Raoul. "You thought you could just make her your wife! No sir! Not today!"

"Erik, listen to me-" Lysandre interrupted.

"Look who's going to end up a bachelor for the rest of his days! Not I, no no no, the eternally-single Vicomte de Chagny!" And with that, Erik blew a large raspberry right in Raoul's face.

"OY!" Lysandre shouted. "Hey, asshole, shut the hell up and listen to me!" Erik turned to her, tongue poking from his mouth. "I don't love Raoul," she said. "But I don't love your sorry ass, either!" Erik suddenly was wearing a look akin to that of a kicked puppy.

"What?" He asked, dumbfounded.

"Erik," Lysandre sighed, "you're a kinda sorta not really but kinda okay guy. I mean, it's great that you love me and shit, but it's kinda too much to handle. Besides, you're way awkward and you do a piss-ass job of wooing a girl. You stalked me. Watched me undress. Kidnapped me. Held me hostage. Stalked me some more. Kidnapped me again. Tried to force me into marriage, which is fucked up on a million different levels. And what's worse, _you never listen to me. _I told you, I'm always right, but you never listened! I tried explaining to you before that I didn't want to stay with Raoul, but you were too involved in your own little world of angst and eternal gloom and stab-my-heart-because-I-love-you emo shit. So no, I don't love you. And I don't love Raoul."

Again, the only response to this was silence. Raoul was staring, glassy-eyed, at the floor. Erik's eyes were teared up and he was looking sadly at Lysandre. The Persian was looking at her with great interest.

"Then, Mademoiselle, if you don't mind my asking," said the Persian, "who is it that you love?"

Lysandre opened her mouth to answer, but, as if right on cue, she heard a voice cry out: "Lyssa!" She whirled around in shock-it couldn't be-could it?

Meg Giry, soaked in lake water from head to foot, came running toward Lysandre. Her costume was a wreck, her dark hair hanging down in strings and her eye makeup smeared. When she reached Lysandre, the two girls embraced and shared an extremely passionate kiss. Lysandre was vaguely aware that the other three men were watching them, their jaws on the floor.

Lysandre and Meg's kiss finally broke, and they looked into each other's eyes for a moment before Lysandre turned to Erik, Raoul, and the Persian.

"You all know Meg Giry, I believe?" She asked. "This is what I've been trying to tell you. Guys, Meg is my _girlfriend. _I like chicks. I discovered it when I was with you, Raoul." She looked at her former beau sympathetically. "We've been together for a few weeks now. The only reason I didn't let you know sooner is because it's not exactly a welcome thing here." Lysandre took Meg's hand in her's. "Besides, she calls me Lyssa, like people are _supposed to." _She eyed Raoul and Erik reproachfully. Letting go of Meg's hand for a moment, she walked over to the two men that had fought so desperately for her heart.

"I'm sorry you had to find out I don't like penis this way," she said quietly. "Like I said, I tried to tell you, but you both are too dickheaded to listen to anyone but yourselves-which is why I prefer Meg. She _understands me. _And she's a bitch too, so we compliment each other perfectly."

Meg made her way over to Lysandre and threw an arm over her shoulder. "I'm _your_ bitch," she said flirtatiously. The two girls giggled and shared another small kiss.

"Well, if that's all," said Lysandre conversationally, as if she had not just shown the two men that she was a lesbian, "we must be going. Hope you don't mind if we take the boat. It's been fun." She linked arms with Meg and began to walk from the room. Then, she stopped. Perhaps she should leave with a bit of a parting gift. She let go of Meg and walked back to the men.

"Thanks for teaching me and stuff," she said to Erik. "I'd say it was fun, but...it kinda sucked ass." She kissed his cheek and looked at Raoul. "You're a shit-ass fighter. Go find Chuck Norris and let him teach you the art of badassery, _something._ But thanks for the romance-you're pretty good at snogging." She kissed his cheek too.

With a little wave, she began walking back to the door. Meg had already headed into the sitting room. As Lysandre shut the door ever so slowly, she kept her face in the sight of Erik and Raoul.

"Toodle-looooooooooo, muthafookoooooooooooooooooo..." she called as the door clicked shut.

* * *

Together, Lysandre and Meg left the opera, walking hand-in hand. The whole place was chaotic, but since Lysandre was in a wedding dress and not her costume, she wasn't noticed by any of the cops standing around-very lucky indeed. She didn't feel like putting up with the fuzz. Standing in the chilly night air, Lysandre breathed in smell of freedom and looked at Meg.

"Thanks," she said. "I owe you one. Seriously, I thought I'd _never_ get out of that shit. I just hope you don't mind the Phantom of the Opera and the Vicomte de Chagny thinking you're a lesbian."

"It's fine," Meg shrugged. "I'm bi anyways."

"That's hot," Lysandre said, nodding in approval.

"Where'd you learn to act like that? I was seriously impressed!"

Lysandre smirked. "I'm just _that_ awesome. Hey, wanna come over to my apartment? Matthieu and Antoine are supposed to meet me there-things could get pretty hot." She winked, and Meg giggled mischievously.

"Ooh, techie boys! Sounds like fun!"

The girls linked arms again and hailed a cab. Looking forward to a night of sexy tech boys and whipped cream being used in ways you never thought of before, Lysandre found it difficult to think of the wealthy aristocrat and mad masked genius she had left under an Opera house. Ah, well. She was sure they'd be able to figure out _something_ to do with their lives.

It wasn't any concern of Lysandre's anymore.

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**A/N: Should I leave it here or include the epilogue? The epilogue is super friggin random, so tell me in a review!**


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